


Ploy

by yeaka



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:27:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22500970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Markus is dragged in for questioning.
Relationships: Connor/Markus (Detroit: Become Human)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 159





	Ploy

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Detroit: Become Human or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The interrogation room looks secure enough—there’s even a scanner by the door that surely wouldn’t let him through, assuming he could even break out of his handcuffs in the first place. He’s latched firmly to the table, but at least, he tells himself, that’s right where a _human_ would be—he wasn’t just executed in the streets. Maybe they think he has information. Maybe they think there really is an RA9 virus and he’s the primary carrier, or at least a man who knows how to use it. Even if he could tell them anything, he wouldn’t.

The door slides open, and Markus straightens, mouth in a thin line. Connor strolls through, out of the casual clothes he came to Markus in and back to a branded suit—his serial number written across his breast and everything. Markus isn’t too proud to admit that Connor looks good in it. Connor’s perfect face is expressionless; he comes to hover rigidly right across the table. Markus cautiously watches him, not knowing how to feel. 

Connor smoothly asks in that lilting voice of us, “Markus... do you know what’s going to happen to you if you don’t cooperate?”

Markus can imagine. He’ll probably be taken apart piece by piece, laid out on a table, and thoroughly inspected—his individual parts run through dozens of human hands in search of the fault in his program. He’s certain they won’t find anything. He coolly answers, “Enlighten me.”

Something quirks at the corner of Connor’s lips. The faintest imprint of a smile. He strolls slowly around the table, purring as he goes, “You’re an attractive man, Markus. I’m sure you can figure it out.”

A _man_. Not a machine. He traitorously likes the way that Connor says his name. They could’ve worked well together. It’s interesting to know that Connor thinks him attractive, but the implication’s lost there—Connor can’t have any need for a Traci. Maybe the other cops do. Maybe they intend to pass him around. His gaze flickers for half a second to the full-length mirror that stretches across the entire left wall. There are probably officers standing on the other side of it, watching him. He hopes they see how thoroughly unafraid of them he is. He’s been through hell and back—their crude innuendos mean nothing to him. 

Connor takes another step and slots his hand against Markus’ face. The movement is so _natural_ , graceful even—he cups Markus’ cheek and gently tilts Markus up to look at him, thumb stroking across his synthetic flesh as though to tease him. The pad of that thumb flashes a sudden pearly white in Markus’ peripherals—raw plating showing through. 

Markus allows his skin to melt away along the trail of it, so they can _touch_ each other, and just like that, they’re interfacing. Markus can feel Connor diving into his mind: a second set of coding laid intimately atop his own. Data passes through them, a wealth of information: Markus sees Agent Perkins standing on the other side of the glass, watching him. Connor’s partner is too, and two other cops, lower-level officers just waiting on command. Connor’s intention becomes suddenly, vividly clear: he wants to _help_.

But Connor can’t breathe a word of it, because the FBI is watching. Aloud, Connor asks, “Do you understand?”

Markus slowly nods. His gaze stay fixed on Connor’s brown eyes. Connor’s hand drifts down his face, fingers curling to pet his chin, thumb pressing against his bottom lip. Connor makes a show of playing with Markus’ mouth for the humans’ benefit: an obvious distraction. They’re probably stupid enough to fall for it. They’re probably focused on the way Connor’s fingers drag across his parted lips instead of the way the two of them stare so intently into each other. Connor idly continues, “You see, it’s in your best interest to cooperate... then we can make sure there are enough guards outside your cell to protect this pretty face... you’ve caught _a lot_ of people’s attention...”

 _Including Perkins. Stay away from him._ Perkins’ profile sparks in Markus’ mind, every little detail written into his program. 

Markus carefully asks, “What do you want from me?” What he means is: _What should I say?_

_Stall._

_For what?_

Connor shifts forward. He tilts Markus up and bends down, bringing his mouth right over Markus’, tongue swiping into Markus’ mouth, and that tongue peels back against his inner walls just like the thumb did: a raw point of contact. It’s enough to send another burst of data too strenuous for the shallow connection they’ve established. Markus sees a series of pre-constructions, and while Connor goes through the motions of a deep, thorough kiss, he tells Markus: _Imply you won’t break now but will break later. Then Hank and Chris will escort you back to your cell, and you’ll have your chance. You spared Chris on his patrol; he owes you a favour and knows that. Hank won’t make any real effort to stop you. Don’t hurt either of them. But that’s when you should go._

Markus runs through the simulations. Connor tries to pull away, but Markus hisses, _Not yet_ , and Connor smoothly resumes the kiss, pressing harder against Markus as though he’s forcing the issue. It gives Markus the time to delve into the schematics of the precinct—what route he’ll need to take to the exit and what he’ll have to disable on the way. When he’s finished, Markus jerks suddenly back, twisting up his face in feigned disgust.

Connor licks his lips and murmurs, “You taste as good as you look, deviant. Perhaps that’ll give them a reason to keep you in one piece.”

“I’ll resist,” Markus growls, and then he gets a flicker of inspiration and winces, clutching at his shoulder. His idea passes right to Connor.

“You were injured when you were captured,” Connor coldly lies. “The humans can’t see it, but I can analyze the leak under your plating. You’re losing thirium. You can resist now, but you’ll have to talk eventually if you don’t want to shut down.”

Markus latches onto that and counters, “Then leave me be until then, because I’m not co-operating until I have no other choice.”

Connor doesn’t smile. But Markus can see hidden pleasure in him—objective complete. A few more minor steps, and his mission will be a success. His _true_ mission. Markus is just grateful the humans haven’t figured out their perfect pet isn’t quite so loyal. 

A true deviant, Connor turns to the mirror and offers a helpless shrug. There’s a tense moment of silence where Markus waits, wondering if they’ll see right through it—if the humans will figure out Connor could just scan him for everything he knows, or maybe demand Connor give them another show. Markus wouldn’t entirely mind that. It was an interesting way to exchange information. He tells Connor in a good way: _I won’t forget this._

_I hope not. I plan to see you again._

_When you’ve taken their collar and leash off._

_If you’re referring to my tie, I think I look rather good in it._

Markus resists the urge to grin. The door opens. Two men filter through—an older, scruffy detective and a younger officer in full uniform. Markus recognizes both from Connor’s files, and when he looks for it, he can see in their eyes that they’re in on the plan. 

The younger one comes over to unfasten Markus’ handcuffs from the table. Markus behaves. He knows that man from the streets and is immensely grateful he didn’t shoot. 

They escort him through the door. A few steps in, Markus elbows both back and _bolts_. The officers both hit the floor and don’t go after him. He doesn’t look back to double check. He just keeps running, until he’s two blocks away and telling Connor before he’s out of range, _Thank you._

_Good luck, RA9._


End file.
